


Rogue Wave

by tentacledicks



Series: Into The Storm [11]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 14:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18551419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/pseuds/tentacledicks
Summary: Jordi's night started bad and only keeps getting worse.





	Rogue Wave

**Author's Note:**

> Started this at 2am in bed yesterday and mostly just did a spellcheck today. There's going to be a followup fic (at... some point...) which should set us up for Rough Seas properly, I think.
> 
> If I had any idea I'd write so many of these in-between ficlets, I would've just made a singular fic for them and done it chaptered. Hindsight is 20/20, I guess.
> 
> Not tagged, but Jordi POV victimblaming again. He's _really_ bad about it in the confines of his own head.

**November 1st, 2017, 02:37**

 

His mouth smoothed over the bruised and brutalized flesh of Aiden’s shoulder, broken capillaries leaving the skin hot under his tongue. Sweat left them stuck together like glue, his come smeared between Aiden’s thighs, and still it wasn’t close enough. Wasn’t easing that itch under his skin that made him want to gut Aiden and bury in cock in the hole left behind, fucking his corpse until everyone knew who it belonged to.

Jordi sighed, sharp, frustrated.

Infuriatingly, Aiden’s hand smoothed over the rigid line of his bicep, stubble catching Jordi’s hair as he half-turned his head back. Not enough to see. Little miracles.

“Hey,” Aiden said, with the ruined voice that had been screaming his name less than five minutes ago, “what’s up? Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t. He really fucking didn’t. ‘Talking about it’ was reserved for his therapist and their two-hour calls that made a poor substitute for the warm leather couch and bottle of Scotch on hand just for him. He hadn’t been back to Chicago in seven months.

Easy to blame that on Aiden. Easy to blame everything from this miserable fucking night on Aiden, except for what could be blamed on the holiday. Plenty of blame to go around. Fuck, Jordi could say even that was Aiden’s fault, because he wouldn’t have been out on the fucking holiday if it weren’t for him.

Aiden’s fingers were rough and calloused when they dragged over his arm hair, but the touch behind them was so soft, so gentle.

Jordi blamed the girl instead.

Some dumb bitch who’d fallen so far past her own limits she couldn’t even see them anymore. A shithole club with shithole patrons and shithole owners, the type of place that only cops did kink at because cops were the fucking worst at it. Put a stupid little lamb in that pack of wolves and of course it’d get eaten. Fucking idiot.

But Aiden couldn’t let it slide. Of course he couldn’t. He couldn’t let anything slide, ever, and had been cruising for a fight with Jordi in tow, because Halloween brought the worst out of people sometimes. Jordi had enjoyed that part. Breaking a couple drunkards’ arms had been the fun kind of foreplay.

Being left to babysit the lost little lamb while Aiden did all the _fun stuff_ in that shithole club had not.

And she’d looked at him with those bruised eyes, like he was some kind of hero, like he could teach her the limits she was too stupid to figure out, like he was anything more than another dickhead dom looking to hurt people and get away with it—

When she looked at him like that, he’d wanted to snap her fucking neck. Wanted to take her stupid little head and twist it until it popped off. Saw the way she shivered in the midnight air and wanted to break every bone in her body until she stopped shaking again.

He hadn’t given her his jacket. He had mugged someone for theirs. And when Aiden came out of that club with a bruise on his cheek and blood gleaming wetly on his nightstick, neither of them had walked her to the police station.

What a fucking joke.

She made an easy scapegoat, though. Unlike Aiden, who’d been flushed with triumph and violence and the vibrant energy that made him worth keeping around. Jordi had to fight him down on the bed and that was half the fun, fighting him, feeling muscles from years of hard living strain against him and eventually crumble under the pressure.

He’d fucked Aiden from behind, pinned him down like a bitch, bit him til he bled and then bit him again. Aiden had been eager for it, begging for it, breathless and excited and rocking back on his dick with every bruise or bleeding welt that Jordi left on his skin. Like he didn’t even realize that Jordi could make the hurt worse than hurt, like he fucking—what? Trusted him? Put himself in Jordi’s hands, no matter the gleeful resistance he put up, and thought Jordi might actually fucking care about him?

What a _fucking_ joke.

He’d been so aware of the rusty knives under his breastbone where his heart should be. The urge to go from biting to hitting, to take Aiden over _that_ hard limit and do it just to fuck him up had been overwhelming, clawing up his throat until it choked him the way his arm around Aiden’s neck did. He took those claws and turned them into scratches up and down Aiden’s thighs, over his ass, across the scar tissue on his side until the red lines left behind almost sated his urge to _hurt him_ until there wasn’t anything left to hurt.

So no. He didn’t want to fucking ‘talk about it’.

“Jordi?” Aiden said again, deep voice low in the blackness of the room. It took a moment for him to realize that his arms had become vices, Aiden’s ribs creaking under the pressure of Jordi wrapped around him from behind.

It was so tempting to bite down on Aiden’s neck until skin became flesh became blood became _bone_ , sinking his teeth into the fragile column of Aiden’s spine and leaving a bite ten times more permanent than the ones his mouth was pressed against now. The sweeter Aiden was, the more Jordi wanted to rip him to shreds. This wasn’t fucking sustainable.

Instead of whispering all the awful, brutal, vicious things he wanted to do to him, Jordi said, “I’m going back to Chicago for a week or two.”

Underneath his crushing grip, he felt Aiden tense slightly, the way he always did when Chicago entered the conversation again. That too pissed him off, made him want to punish the response like hitting a cringing dog, knowing all the while that it wouldn’t fucking work anyways. Not that Aiden ever cringed. He just got this set, grim look on his face and braced for impact, readied the fist that would swing up in response, tightened all the muscles in his body for a quick revenge.

“That’s fine,” Aiden said after a second, trying to turn his head and see Jordi again. And then, as if he couldn’t fucking _feel_ the murderous rage building in Jordi’s core, he had the audacity to ask, “Do you want me to come with?”

He didn’t want Aiden to come with the same way he didn’t want to talk about it.

He wanted to force Aiden back to Chicago and make him confront all those demons he still carried with him.

He didn’t want to answer the questions that were bound to follow whenever Aiden figured out the real reason he wanted to be back there.

He wanted an excuse to dump this whole farce of a relationship in the fucking gutter where it belonged.

He didn’t want to hurt him.

He wanted to break his fingers and toes before carving his limbs up in pieces while leaving him alive.

He said, “Do whatever you fucking want, it’s not like you’ve actually got a schedule. I’ll just get the next flight out.”

Still caught in the trap of Jordi’s arms, Aiden sighed. The slight exhale nearly sent Jordi boiling over, muscles twitching as he fought off the urge to dislocate something important. He could do it, too. From this angle, snapping one of Aiden’s arms out of socket would be childishly easy, just a matter of force and pressure on exactly the right spot.

Then Aiden turned in his arms, firmly dislodging Jordi’s grip, his hands sliding up the rigid curve of his biceps and ending cupped around Jordi’s jaw. He could have done something to stop it, but he’d been forcing himself _not_ to rip Aiden to shreds, so he missed his chance.

“The prices on plane tickets this close to buying are stupid,” Aiden said, his green eyes the only spot of real color in the dark room. Everything else was cast in shades of blue-grey, the light from under the door so dim that it bleached everything into shapes and values instead. His eyes were always the most vivid thing in a room, and Jordi wondered what it would feel like to have them pop under his thumbs. “Just let me drive you there. It’s a sixteen hour trip, tops.”

“You really think I could stand to be in a car with you for sixteen fucking hours?” His hands slid down, grabbed Aiden’s ass and dug his nails in hard enough to bleed. “You hate Chicago, anyways.”

“It doesn’t have a lot of good left in it for me. But if you’re going to be there, I don’t see any reason to stay away,” Aiden said, as if he were the fucking _reasonable one_ in this trashfire of a relationship. As if he had any _right_ to invite himself along when it was so hard for Jordi to avoid killing him in this bed right now.

“I don’t think you understand how much I want to hurt you right now,” he hissed through his teeth, holding Aiden so close that his heartbeat thudded through Jordi’s chest.

“I don’t understand _why_ , but I’ve gotten the gist of your feelings on the matter.” Aiden’s voice was dry, green eyes crinkling at the corners, and Jordi hated him so much that he wanted to cut him open from neck to ankle, skin him alive and make a fucking _rug_ out of him.

The grip on his own jaw was firm, Aiden’s thumbs dragging over the curve of his cheekbones as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Jordi’s firm, unmoving ones. He didn’t pull back when Jordi refused to respond, only tipped his head and pressed their cheeks together, shutting his eyes and removing the temptation for Jordi to gouge them out.

“I wouldn’t let you kill me,” Aiden said, deep voice a rumble more felt than heard. The stupid fucker could barely whisper with that voice, but he was trying anyways. “For one, there’s not a good enough price on my head for it yet—I check. And for two, I’ve gotten really into bottoming and you’re the only one I trust enough to do it.”

Jordi inhaled, slow and deliberate, thought about killing him anyways. Thought about hitting him until his bones snapped like that fragile line of trust Aiden kept offering. Thought about fucking him with a knife until he was ruined for _everyone_ , and not for the reasons he said he could be. Thought about biting his stupid face off just because Jordi always figured he’d make a halfway decent cannibal if he tried at it.

He exhaled, unclenched his muscles enough to drag one hand up Aiden’s bloody, scarred up side. Inhaled, took all the things that had set him off tonight and cloistered them off in a section of his head marked with his therapist’s name. Exhaled, felt the steady beat of Aiden’s heart and pretended like the jagged, empty thing in his own chest was beating in tune.

Inhaled. Exhaled. Just like his therapist taught him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, arms still wrapped around Aiden like a cage even if they weren’t crushing anymore.

“We don’t have to talk, then,” Aiden said, breath ghosting across his lips like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> [vin drew fucking art for this we've been blessed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14312607/chapters/43978738)


End file.
